God's Will
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: This is a one-shot story that starts after Redwood. Nolan and Bishop are assigned to keep trouble from breaking out between opposing groups. Nolan realizes that the wrong things can be done for what is perceived as the right reasons. Cover art by Artifex Prime.


God's Will

"What's going on?" Ben asks as John checks the text alert on his phone.

"It's another emergency call-in. There's a problem at the convention center, but the text isn't specific. It doesn't matter. My master calls and I must obey."

"That bites. It's been barely eight hours since you got off shift."

John shrugs. "It's the job, Ben. Trouble doesn't keep a schedule. And even if I end up assigned to minor stuff like I was part of the time the Vice President was in town, I never know when someone's life might be in danger. I can't turn my back on that. Just leave the pepproncinis I have in the fridge alone. Whenever I get back, I'm planning on using them on a sandwich that will be a true work of art."

Ben raises his right hand. "Promise."

* * *

"The convention center screwed up," Grey informs the cops assembled at the precinct. "They booked the Gay Square Dancers convention at the same time as the convention of Soldiers of the Way. If you are not familiar with that group, they are far right wing Christian militants - not the most tolerant of the LGBTQ community. The square dancers do not appear to be too fond of them either. Several scuffles have already broken out, and tensions are continuing to rise. It will be our job to minimize conflict. I'm not expecting that any of you can make them join hands and sing Kumbaya. We're just going to be there to keep anyone from getting hurt.

"You'll be working in your usual pairs in locations around the center. We hope that your presence will serve as a deterrent to disturbances. If not, use the least destructive means possible to preserve order - and be careful. The Soldiers of the Way consider the right to bear arms as one of the tenets of their organization. And there's no telling if any of the square dancers carry, either. As many of you know, the convention center uses metal detectors for security, but that doesn't mean that no one's gotten anything past them. And not all of you will be inside that building. Be alert. Be smart. Be careful. A supervisor will meet you at the center and give you your assignments."

* * *

The commander relegates John and Bishop to a post near the swimming pool at the hotel nearest to the center. The swimmers and sunbathers seem harmless enough, but Bishop instructs John to keep his eyes moving and stay sharp. He isn't sure exactly what she's expecting him to see and he has a hard time pulling his eyes from a man lounging in an inner tube at the center of the pool. The fellow looks at least six four and he's wearing a speedo that conceals almost nothing. Whatever isn't hidden beneath the stretchy fabric is sprouting hair, a lot of it, including a full beard. John isn't fully conversant with all the terminology used by the gay community, but he's pretty sure that the man he can't stop staring at is what would be known as a bear. As the hirsute sunbather floats contentedly with his eyes closed against the sun, John mentally dubs him Gentle Ben.

A slight young man with a cowboy hat and denim-colored swim trunks gazes down at the water as another man, in camouflage shorts and a camo shirt, open to reveal a large cross, strides up. "Afraid of the water, fairy princess? I thought it only melted witches. Maybe it melts bitches too."

John moves toward the two men as Cowboy turns to face Soldier. "Why can't you leave us alone? We aren't doing anything to you. We just want to enjoy ourselves like human beings."

"Hey," John intervenes, "there's plenty of room here and more than enough L.A. sun for everyone. They have cold drinks at the snack bar. Why not get one and chill out?"

"Chill out," the soldier repeats. "Not when there's work to be done. This perv claims to be a human being, but he's an abomination in the sight of God."

Bear rises from the pool, towering over both Soldier and John. "If there's an abomination here, jerkoff, it's you. Do you know what Jesus had to say about being gay? Nothing! You know what he called the self-righteous? Vipers. Why don't you slither back to your nest before I crush you like the venomous snake you are?"

John attempts to block Bear's lunge at Soldier as Bishop runs toward the fray pulling out her pepper spray, on her way. "The next one who makes a move gets a face full of pain." She fixes Soldier with a glare. "If you can't find a way to follow the Prince of Peace, I've got a nice holding cell where you can make like Paul. Maybe you can even write a letter."

"If he knows how to write," Bear spits out. "He obviously can't read."

John tugs Bear back a step. "No need for that. If you have rooms here, that's where you should go."

"If you can't go on your own. We can get officers to escort you," Bishop adds.

"I wasn't doing anything," Cowboy complains.

"That's right, Scotty, you weren't," Bear confirms, "but we can go upstairs together. We should call Bill and Joey to practice our swing like thunder before the competition. We're going to take first this year."

Scotty smiles up at his partner and offers him a towel from a nearby lounger. "Yeah, Murphy, we will."

Bishop makes a V with her fingers and points to her eyes, then at the dance partners and the soldier. "Separate elevators. We'll be watching."

"You know the Bible. Where did that come from?" John asks after the combatants are safely clear of poolside.

"Not from church," Bishop admits. "You know I was in the system, John, but some people thought I was worth saving - from hell on earth - not the one with the guy with the pitchfork. They offered me stuff to keep me off the street, odd jobs, art classes, choir. That's where the Bible came in. Mostly it was just in the words to the songs, but sometimes I looked up where they came from. A lot of the love stuff was from Paul. I didn't buy it all, not even close, but I read a lot of it."

John nods. "Bishop, you never fail to surprise me."

"And if you don't pay attention, Boot, you're going to be surprised by more than me. You see that guy over there picking up empty drink glasses?"

John glances at a young man in the apron like the one worn by hotel employees. "He's cleaning up."

"No, but he wants to. Do you see a hotel I.D.?"

"No," John admits.

"That's because he doesn't have one. He isn't here to pick up dirty glasses. He's waiting for someone to leave a purse or a wallet behind and go in the pool. Then he can grab it without anyone noticing. And - there he goes."

John sees the young man reach for a tote bag left on a lounge chair, glance toward him and Bishop, and then take off at a run.

"Go get him, Boot," Bishop orders.

Wary of all the water nearby, John isn't about to risk using his Taser. With his longer legs and more massive body, John brings the thief down with a running tackle and cuffs him. When Bishop calls out for someone to claim the tote bag, there's no response. She checks inside for ID and finds bags of pills. She turns to the suspect, now on his feet with John tightly grasping his shoulders."

"Who left you the pills?"

The suspect insists he knows nothing about them.

* * *

"So what do we do now?" John asks as the door to the holding cell clangs behind the would-be tote snatcher.

"We get back out there, Boot. Figuring out where those drugs came from is a job for detectives, not my problem, at least not yet."

"But you really want to know," John persists. "Even if you turned down the tap for now. I can see it."

Bishop strides back toward the garage. "Still not my job, Boot. Not yours either."

* * *

As John is driving back toward the convention center, Bishop picks up a call from Nell, the dispatcher. Security at the hotel wants to talk to the two of them about a woman who complained that her bag had been stolen near the pool. John and Bishop exchange looks. Who would be dumb enough to claim a stash of drugs?

John finds out when he and Bishop meet with Jim Morton, the hotel's security chief, who points through the window of his office to a woman sitting in a chair. "She must be at least ninety," John speculates.

"Her name is Alice Mooney, and she says she's ninety-six," Morton confirms, and she's really upset about losing her bag."

"I'll bet," Bishop mutters.

Bishop signals to John that they should go in and he hunkers down in front of the distraught senior. "Ma'am, can you tell us what happened?"

Her wrinkles deepen. "Finally, the police. It's about time! Someone took my tote bag. It had my glasses, the batteries for my hearing aid, my Nora Roberts novel and the silver compact my husband gave me on our 25th anniversary."

"No money, credit cards, or anything else?" Bishop presses.

Alice glares at her. "I'm not senile, young woman!" The nonagenarian turns back to John and pats her bustline. "My money and platinum card are safe right here."

"And there wasn't anything else?" John prompts gently.

Alice sighs. "I suppose I should tell you. My friends and I meet for tea here every month. We chip in for a room to have access to the pool because the celebrities come here when they're appearing at an event. We've gotten all sorts of autographs, even that nice LeBron James. He's producing TV now, you know."

"No Ma'am, I didn't," John admits. "Is there something else you and your friends were doing here besides having tea and collecting autographs?"

"We have a charitable project. We met Michael, a nice young man who told us that he's collecting pills for older people in his neighborhood who can't afford them. So we bring leftover prescriptions that we have and leave them in our bags for him to take back to those who need them."

"You know that's illegal, right?" Bishop inserts.

Alice's watery eyes flash. "Well, it shouldn't be! God calls on us to help anyone in need. Those unfortunate people shouldn't have to go without medicine. My friends and I have been giving ours to Michael for months, and nothing was ever taken from our bags before but the pills."

John looks up at Bishop. "We must have spooked him." He turns back to Alice. "We did retrieve your bag from someone. But we're going to need you to tell us if it's the man who's been collecting pills from you and your friends. We have to take you to the police station with us."

"Fine!" Alice agrees, "but I'm sure our young man is no thief."

Alice looks through the glass. "You've made a mistake. That's Michael."

"No Ma'am; no mistake," Bishop assures her. "His name isn't Michael, it's Lucas, and he's been picked up before for drug dealing. He doesn't give away pills; he sells them."

Alice swipes at a tear on her wizened cheek. "I thought I was doing something good, by giving them to him, that I was helping."

John holds out a box of tissues. "Yes, Ma'am. We understand."

* * *

"Emergency over?" Ben inquires as John slams the door of his refrigerator and uncaps a beer.

John takes a long swallow. "If you mean did I do my job, I guess so. Bishop and I had to get into things because people did something stupid believing it was God's will. What kind of sense does that make?"

Ben shrugs. "None. 'There are two things on earth that are universal: hydrogen and stupidity.' Frank Zappa."

John sinks into a chair. "He may be right. But on the other hand, who in his right mind would call his kids Moon Unit and Dweezil?"

Ben gets a beer of his own and clinks bottles with John. "Buddy, you've got a point."


End file.
